Page 84 of An Irish Summer

“People can change, can’t they?”

“So it’s a yes?”

“Will you stop looking at me like that if it is?”

“You don’t like how I look at you?” He flicked his eyes down to my lips, almost imperceptibly, then back up to my eyes.

“It’s a yes,” I said, hoping to dodge his question.

“I should warn you though,” he said. “They aren’t perfect.”

“No family is.”

“They can just be a bit, I don’t know, rough around the edges.”

“All families are. Are you trying to change my mind?”

“No, no. I’m just trying to make sure you know what you’re agreeing to.”

“Are they ax murderers?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Then I’m not worried about what I’m agreeing to,” I said. I thought back to last night and our conversation about expectations and disappointments, and I tried not to hold it against them that they could possibly be disappointed by Collin.

Who cared if they were rough around the edges? The same could be said for my mother, especially when she met someone new. I didn’t mind, because they were important to Collin, and what was important to Collin was quickly becoming important to me.

“Right, then.” He exhaled, and a smile formed on his face. “I promised Lars my truck this afternoon though, so it’ll be the train from Galway for us. But you’ll love the ride.”

If he’d been right about one thing, regardless of how hard I’d tried to fight it, it was that I’d been loving the ride.

On the drive back to Galway, I thought back to my own childhood home. One look at my small bedroom with its figureskating trophies, bat mitzvah photos, and the acoustic guitar I bought in high school but hardly ever played would tell you nearly everything you wanted to know about me. And that’s without even talking to my parents. One conversation with them and you’d know more than I was ever willing to share. I wondered if Collin’s home was the same way. I wondered if I was prepared to know him on a deeper level. And I wondered how much harder that would make leaving.

The train station was quiet on a Sunday morning, so we spoke in hushed tones as we grabbed two coffees for the ride and waited on the platform. When the train arrived, I watched the way the wind ruffled his hair, remembering how it felt in my hands the night of the ceilidh.

We wandered the length of a few cars, scanning either side to find two seats next to each other. The entire train was upholstered in a pattern likely chosen to hide any stains, but it was still cleaner and quieter than any form of public transportation I’d taken in the States.

“Aye, these are perfect,” Collin said as we finally approached an empty pair. “Big nice window for ya. You’ll get some brilliant views on this ride.”

I slid into the window seat, shoving my tote under the seat in front of me and making myself comfortable. As the train dragged itself from the station, Collin nudged me with his shoulder. “All right, no going back now,” he said.

“Should I want to?”

“I’d hope not.” His eyes were so earnest it formed a knot in my chest.

“I’m sure it’ll be grand,” I said, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders.

“God, I love when you say that.Grand.Like you’re a local.”His compliment, while it made my face warm, tightened the knot. I wasn’t a local, and I could never be a local, and I feared he wished it was different. Wished I was different.

As the train reached a steady pace and the countryside began to stretch itself beyond the windows, he rested his hand on my knee, like it was something he’d been doing all his life. The weight of it steadied my nerves. I vowed to get carried away in the views, counting the shades of green to keep my brain from ruining the moment.

It only took a mile or so for Collin to be right about the landscape. The hills tumbled over one another, reaching higher as they moved farther away from the tracks. Farmland spread in all directions, and I allowed myself to slip into a daydream about what it might be like to live on the land. No corporate ladder, no coworkers, no ridiculously expensive Whole Foods groceries. Just land and sky and baking bread and drinking tea by the fireplace.

They might have been onto something after all.

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Collin whispered, like he was trying to wake me gently from my daydream.

“Seriously. The countryside in Massachusetts looks nothing like this. It’s all grubby old farms and cemeteries and creepy abandoned houses.”

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